


December Twenty One

by MsBrightsideSH



Series: Advent calendar [13]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas Dinner, Eggnog, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBrightsideSH/pseuds/MsBrightsideSH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Christmas party, about four years after Inception. Arthur and Philippa are bros, and Eames eats way too much ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	December Twenty One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written super quick and on a train, so please point out any mistakes!

 

 

 

“This is becoming quite the tradition, isn't it?” Eames says, kissing Ariadne on the cheek and slapping Cobb's back a little too hard.

“We brought home made eggnog,” Arthur adds, holding the bottle up.

Yusuf looks at it, suspicious. “ _You_ made that yourself?”

“Well, Eames made it, really,” Arthur admits. “But I was there and watched, so no need to worry.”

“Oh, I would only have worried if you had actively taken part in the making,” Ariadne says over her shoulder, and Eames snorts.

Arthur tries to look affronted, but he doesn't quite manage it. Everybody knows he has other merits than cooking.

 

They move to the living room where Philippa greets them in an apron and James sits on the carpet playing with Lego, hardly acknowledging anyone at all.

“I almost cooked all by myself!” Philippa tells Arthur excitedly, taking his hand without a hint of shyness.

Arthur usually isn't good with children at all, that's Eames part.

Children adore Eames, they love his funny accent and the fact that he never behaves like an adult at all.

What Philippa likes about Arthur, he guesses, is that while he's sure as adult-like as anyone, he treats her like one, too.

Cobb is so protective of his children, he never even varies their bedtime (unless there's something important going on, like this party) or lets them use minor swear words, trying to shield them in every way possible from the world outside.

Philippa is very clever, though, and her thirst for knowledge never fails to amaze Arthur.

He tells her the stuff she won't hear from her father, about the real world with it's real people, people that might actually want to harm you, who live because others die.

Sometimes, he tells her about dreams.

He's sure she'd never let anything slip in front of her father. She never has, not even when Eames taught her how to pick locks one rainy afternoon. She just absorbs everything quietly.

 

“Arthur!”

Philippa pulls at his sleeve.

“Are you even listening? I just told you that I was allowed to prepare the roast, stuffing and everything! Dad wouldn't let me do it at first, he thought I might feel sick, having my hand sin a dead animal, but I didn't mind at all.”

“That's very brave of you,” Arthur remarks, but Phil just shrugs.

“If I'm going to _eat_ it later, why shouldn't I touch it?” she says, matter of factly.

“I just hope the stuffing turned out ok, I used Mal's old recipe.”

Arthur bites his lip at how she says 'Mal' instead of 'Mommy', like she used to.

He knows how much it hurts her father, although Cobb never says anything.

Arthur did ask her about it once.

“She wasn't my mommy any more for a long time before she died,” Philippa had said, sounding much older than her years. “I didn't even feel like she knew I was her daughter.”

Arthur had been so surprised at how much Philippa understood and perceived that he had just looked at her.

“I know it sounds stupid, but Dad won't explain it properly to me, even though I _know_ he knows what I mean,” she had continued, angrily, tears glinting in her eyes.

“It's not my place to tell you,” Arthur had said reluctantly and then wrapped her in one of the hugs she so rarely allowed.

 

“It sounded a bit weird with the mushed cranberries and all,” Philippa goes on, shaking Arthur out of his memories.

“But I tasted some before it went into the oven, and it was pretty good, so don't worry.”

“Oh, I never worry,”Arthur assures her with a smile.

“Not when it's your job to do something.”

He bows down to her and whispers in a conspiratorial tone of voice.

“I only worry when it's Eame's job to do something.”

She giggles and swats at his arm in a way that's so painfully _Mal_ that his throat constricts for a second. He swallows around it and doesn't let her see it, though.

“When will the roast be ready, then?” Arthur asks, peering into the oven.

“Oh, it should be ready any minute now, can you help me get it out? It's enough for all of us, so it's super heavy.

“Sure, no problem.”

Together and with the help of a pair of pot holders, they get it out of the oven and place it on the counter for a minute.

“How about you go to the dining room and call me when the table is set so I can carry it over quickly?”

Philippa nods her head and slips into the adjoining room.

“All set!” she calls and Arthur picks up the big roasting pot with the pot holders and carries it over.

“Mmh, smells delicious, Phil,” Eames exclaims, dropping into a chair.

“Dad, can you get the potatoes and the gravy, please?” Philippa asks.

 

When Cobb returns, they're all seated around the table and Eames assists Philippa with cutting the roast. He helps himself to a a giant serving, and Philippa looks at him sternly.

“Eames, don't be greedy!”

Arthur grins.

“Eames, you know the rules, whatever you serve yourself, you have to eat.”

“Oh, I will,” Eames says confidently.

“There's dessert, too,” Ariadne warns him. “Ice cream, I believe.”

“And eggnog, of course,” Yusuf throws in.

“I got it.” Eames holds up his hand. “I promise to finish my plate, eat a bowl of ice cream and drink a glass of eggnog. Happy, everyone?”

 

They start eating. It _is_ delicious, but also very rich.

Eames stops looking quite so confident after he's eaten about half the food that's on his plate, but he doesn't complain nor stop until the last potato and the last bit of stuffing have vanished from it.

Arthur sees him loosening his belt, though, and winks at Phil.

Ariadne gets the ice cream from the freezer and divides it into bowls.

It's very good, almond and Belgian chocolate, Eames's favourites, and for the first two spoons, he looks like he's enjoying it, but the rest of it is clearly a fight.

Arthur enjoys the dessert and even steal a spoon or two from Eames, until Philippa kicks him under the table.

Eames pushes the bowl away from himself with a groan when he's done, but Yusuf immediately gets up and returns with a tray of glasses, the eggnog and hot chocolate for Philippa and James.

“Mmmh, yum,” Arthur says, pouring some of the thick yellow liquid into a glass.

“Want to go first, Darling?” he mocks, handing it to Eames, who looks like he might throw up soon.

“Please,” he says weakly. “I promise, I won't ever put too much food on my plate _ever_ again, ok? Just leave me alone.”

“Well, it's your own fault,” Philippa says, sipping her chocolate without pity.

“I'm sorry, but he's right,” Arthur says, kissing Eames cheek and stealing his eggnog, since he obviously won't want it any time soon.


End file.
